


The Friend Inside the Enemy

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Daleks - Freeform, Drama, Enemies, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Uncommon Allies, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: The Doctor wakes on a battlefield, injured, with no way of surviving other than an equally injured Dalek. Can members of two races so divided from one another possibly be save each other?





	The Friend Inside the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt written by DoctorDisco12. Thank you! I hope this is what you were looking for.

The Friend Inside the Enemy

Ringing ears. Face lying on the muddy ground. Missing memories of how he’d gotten here.

Not good; not good; not good.

The Doctor forced sluggish eyelids open. The world tilted in front of him, swirling. Somewhere not so distant, gunfire went off; familiar but unplaceable in his current condition. He could just make out blurred figures standing around him, shouting, when his eyes suddenly closed again. 

The memories came flooding back in a tidal wave, as did his senses. The shouting grew louder and the gunfire closer; the smell of mud filled his nostrils. His opened his eyes properly and took in the messy fight surrounding him. 

Ah, right. He’d forgotten how bad of a day it was.

He pushed his upper half off the ground, but found he was dragging his legs like dead weight. Perplexed, he looked down to the two limbs. They looked perfectly alright; no injury that he could see. Only when he tried to move them did he realize something was wrong.

He couldn’t move them.

He grit his teeth against the frustration. Of all the times to not be able to run, this was probably the worst. Not to mention the headache he was developing, and the liquid dripping down his head that was almost definitely blood. At least he knew why he was unconscious now, focusing on the positive.

He turned back up to the battle. Dalek weapons fired across the plain. He couldn’t even remember what planet he was on; they all blended together after a while, all these battlefields. He looked at the falling soldiers. In their ranks, he knew, without speaking to any of them or remembering their names, stood doctors and mothers and cousins; teachers and daughters and friends. 

The things that were sacrificed in every galaxy he’d ever seen, to protect against a temporary enemy who’s temporarily out of luck and risking their own league of amazing, sacrificial heroes. 

He’d been on the battlefield too long.

His eyes scanned the field until they landed on one figure, a Dalek, standing just ten or so meters away. It was staring right at him, and yet did not shoot him. 

By the looks of it, the Dalek was in even worse shape than the Doctor. It’s headcase had been damaged badly, exposing precious wires and circuits. Every now and then, sparks flew out of its head. The Doctor felt something almost like pity fill his hearts.

That is, until the Dalek started making right toward him. Fear took pity’s place in an instant.

The Doctor used his hands to try and push himself as far back as possible, but it was no use with his legs paralyzed. He couldn’t drag himself all the way to the TARDIS, wherever she was. Especially since the headache was getting worse every second. 

The Dalek was getting closer and closer, now definitely within range. If it decided to fire…

“Hold on; hold on, please.” He couldn’t believe he was pleading with a Dalek, but sometimes that’s just how life went. After all, he really was just a bloke passing through trying to help, not a soldier or a general. And now he was a very scared bloke lying unable to move on a muddy battlefield with his greatest enemy approaching. 

His voice faded away as the Dalek neared, but surprisingly, it wasn’t out of fear. It was curiosity. The Dalek didn’t have a gun or a suction. Instead, it was armed with what looked like medical tools. The body of this Dalek was different, too. It seemed bulkier; more designed for stashing lots of equipment rather than being an efficient killer. 

From this close, the Doctor also noticed something strange about its eyestalk. There was a large crack just next to the damage in its headpiece, and the blue light flickered on and off. This Dalek was at least partially blind.

“Scans show you are injured,” the Dalek said, in its chilling voice.

The Doctor could’ve laughed. “Yes, you caught me. It looks like you’re injured too. We should start a club.”

The Dalek slowed and finally stopped, simply staring over the Doctor.

“Do you require assistance?” The Dalek asked. The Doctor’s eyebrows lowered. 

“Do I what?”

“Do you require assistance?” Its voice grew louder, over the sound of the fight still going on around them. 

The Doctor scoffed, but seriously considered his position. Here he was, injured and alone, on a battlefield. Was he really in a position to deny help? Still, he was skeptical.

“Why would you help me?” He asked. 

The Dalek’s eyestalk moved, but its light stayed dark. “You are injured. I am programmed to assist the injured. Do you require assistance?”

The Doctor looked the Dalek over again. “You’ve had a bit of a knock on the head, haven’t you?” He muttered under his breath. A shot rang out too close for comfort. “Alright; yes. Yes, I require assistance. My legs are paralyzed. Temporary, I think. Probably from your lot; early version of your weapons. I saw it happen to a friend once. A long, long time ago.”

He watched the Dalek as its case seemed to unfold. His eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“I am equipped with a transporter.”

“A Dalek transporter. I can’t-”

The Daleks arms swivelled out, replaced by what looked like paddles, which lay parallel to the ground. The outermost layer of its casing then folded down, creating a seat. The Doctor’s eyes widened.

“That was...impressive. But how am I supposed to get up there if I can’t move?”

The Dalek was one step ahead of him. Extending a third and fourth ‘arm’ from the band under its headpiece, the Dalek pulled out two large ‘hands’. The Doctor felt himself back away almost unconsciously.

“Er, no. Nevermind. This was a bad idea, you know. I don’t need to be humiliated by a-”

An explosion of gunfire just behind him shut the Doctor’s mouth. He still couldn’t even feel his toes, and the battle wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Reluctantly, he shifted his upper half closer to the Dalek and raised his arms.

“Alright. But if you ever run into anyone I know, do not tell them about this. Especially not your Dalek friends. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The Dalek helped him up into the ‘wheelchair’, securing him in with a basic seatbelt. As the Dalek put its arms away, the Doctor let his embarrassment lessen, focusing on the Dalek instead.

“I’ve never seen a Dalek like you,” he said.

“My case was made as a part of a special program. It has since been discontinued.”

The Doctor turned back ahead. “It’s a shame. I like you.”

The Dalek seemed to fidget, if Daleks could fidget. “You must direct us to safety. My vision has been compromised.”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “Right. Leading a Dalek medic across a battlefield. This isn’t how I planned to spend my day. You know, I was aiming for 21st century London.”

The Doctor directed the Dalek medic behind a small battlefleet of soldiers he prayed wouldn’t accidentally fire at him and his new friend. It really would’ve been the icing on a ‘bad day’ cake to be killed by his allies at this point.

They approached a second battle, flanked on both sides by Daleks, and the Doctor led them behind a wall. “Okay, there are two Dalek armies surrounding one human army. I’ll try to keep us on the outskirts, away from harm.”

The Doctor carefully and quietly commanded the Dalek medic around the semicircle of Daleks, keeping behind as many of them as possible, and then down into a narrow alley. It was much quieter over here, at least. 

The Dalek paused. “Where are you taking us?”

The Doctor smirked. “Safest place in the universe.”

He led them down two more paths, instinct kicking in as they approached their destination. When they finally stood just in front of his blue, beautiful box, the Doctor smiled. 

“We’re here. We made it.”

The Doctor tried to stand before he remembered his predicament. Instead, he unlocked the door and pushed it open wide. 

“Might be a tight squeeze, but I think you can manage it. Just go forward a bit. And mind the step.”

The Dalek entered the TARDIS slowly, rocking a bit over the entrance, and stopped in front of the Console. The Doctor smiled again at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Now, if I can just-”

The Doctor tried to stand, but his legs gave out underneath him. His nose avoided a collision with the floor only because of the Dalek’s paddle arms grabbing onto him at the last second. It lowered him slowly to the floor a moment later.

“You should have waited for assistance. You are still injured.”

The Doctor turned himself over and looked up at the Dalek. “I wanted to help fix you, but I apparently can’t even help myself right now.”

“You have a head injury, and leg paralysis still persists,” the Dalek explained. “I do not require medical assistance. I am the medic.”

The Doctor quirked his lips. “Doctors get ill, too.”

The Dalek’s eyestalk moved warily, its light blinking on and off again. “I will be fine,” it said, monotone. “I do not need vision to heal. I must return to the battlefield.”

The Dalek spun around. “Wait!” The Doctor called out. The Dalek stopped. “I never said...thank you.”

The Dalek turned its eyestalk slightly to face the Doctor. “I was performing my duty.”

The Doctor looked at the floor. “You know...maybe I should have been more receptive to help. You really are a good doctor.”

The Dalek turned back to the door. “But I am not a good Dalek.”

The Doctor’s head perked up, but the Dalek was gone before he could think of a proper reply. The door shut a second later of its own accord, and suddenly the engines of the ship whirred to life.

“Where are we going, old girl?”

They landed without a hitch a few moments later, the Doctor still stuck on the floor in front of the Console. His head had started to hurt again, aching badly this time. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t even feel pain in his legs.

The doors opened while the Doctor was looking at his dirty, muddy hands. When he picked his head up, Clara was staring at him with wide eyes from the doorway.

“Hey, teach.”

She hurried to him, worrying over the wound on his head immediately. “What happened to you? And why are you on the floor?”

He explained the situation and suddenly found his companion’s arms wrapped around him, her hair falling onto his cheek.

“Are you going to be okay?” She asked. Her eyes were inflated again, and wet. The Doctor nodded profusely.

“Yes, yes, yes; of course. I’ll be fine. In a few hours I’ll be right as rain.”

She bit her lip and glanced at his forehead. “Not with that head of yours. I’m cleaning that up; no arguments.”

He stayed silent for her, tired after a long day and expecting that she felt the same way. She cleaned up his injury and dressed it with absolute tenderness, then knelt beside him.

“How are your legs?”

He moved his toes, but couldn’t repeat the action with his ankles or knees. “Still mostly out of commission.”

She stared into his weary eyes, still chewing her lip. Without another word, she reached under one of the Console compartments and pulled out a large blanket. She wrapped it over him and then herself, and then set her head on his shoulder. The Doctor lowered his brows.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh,” she replied, closing her eyes. “I know how bad today’s been for you. I saw it in your eyes. So I want you to just relax with me for a minute. Close your eyes.”

He obeyed, thinking of friends and enemies; of soldiers and healers. Perhaps none of those dichotomies mattered. Perhaps everyone in the universe was just doing what they felt they should do. 

He leaned his head on Clara’s and felt the tension drift away. No need to solve the universe’s messy problems right now. Like Clara said, it was time for the old soldier to rest for a little while.

And so he did, letting a soft smile break his hardened features as his body began to rest.


End file.
